Clandestine
by LittleGreenBudgie
Summary: Assignations between spies are generally quick, wordless brushes. It's a pity that's not quite Matthew's style, especially where Leila is concerned. MatthewLeila


"Ah, Lady Lyndis! Mark! I have some minor...business...to attend to. I'm unable to join you. If you need any of my possessions, please take them now."

Those were Matthew's last words before he saddled his black draft horse and tore across the Lycian grasslands, a destination locked firmly in his mind. He remembered the missive that Hector had slipped him back in Khathelet**-a**n…associate of his, so to speak, would be waiting in the Griffon's Wing tavern, an hour's ride north of the Caelin border. Matthew felt a slight twinge of guilt at abandoning Lyndis's Legion, but his first and foremost loyalties belonged to Ostia. If he was required to deliver a report to someone perhaps a bit more trustworthy than the marquess's reckless brother, then so be it.

Matthew slowed his pace as he entered the farming village, eyes taking note of every harrowed peasant and weary traveler to ensure he wasn't in danger. He carefully dismounted outside the Griffon's Wing, handed a coin to a stable hand, and tossed out orders to have his horse fed, watered, and brushed down by the time he came back for it.

The clutter of tables and chairs made the tavern seem deceptively small, although Matthew reckoned it could hold close to fifty men if necessary. Not that it had seen that many customers in a long time, from the look of it; the only occupants of the inn were a dark-haired bartender and a pair of bored servers. One of them sat at the bar, cleaning a glass mug, while the other idly wiped down a table that likely hadn't been used in hours. Matthew wouldn't have paid a second glance at the woman, were it not for the shock of wine-red hair that fell in her eyes; he knew that hair, knew the careful way its owner stood, and he flashed his best grin.

"Hello," Matthew greeted. "Are you going to seat me, or are you just going to ignore a valued customer?"

Leila's head snapped up, and she nearly dropped her rag as she whipped around.

"Matthew?" she whispered.

"Come now, you know me," he replied. "Can I get a seat by the window? Much as I love looking at you, m'dear, I do like a nice view of the world."

"You're early," Leila accused in an undertone, nonetheless leading him over to the seat he requested.

"Am I? My, I didn't know I was expected. Counting the days 'til I showed up?" he asked merrily.

"Hardly. I've been working here," she replied with an undignified snort. "And let me tell you, if you think a thief can't keep his hands to himself, wait until you see this crowd."

"Funny you should mention that. I've been passing myself off as a thief, and although keeping up this bloody Araphen accent is killing me, it's a lot better than that whole farmer spiel I put on last time. Speaking of which, what's your cover this time?"

Leila rolled her eyes as he knew she would; she always found some way to be perturbed by his favorite conversation topics, even though she ranked more than high enough on that list.

"My cover? Isn't it obvious?" Leila dryly muttered, gesturing vaguely at her low-cut barmaid's blouse.

"And here I thought you did that just for me," he teased, flashing her a smile.

"You wish," she returned. "So, what'll you have today?"

"How about my usual?" he asked, resting his head on one hand and looking up at her. Those honey eyes of his shone cheerily; the corners of his mouth quirked upward in his best winning smile.

Matthew could see the barkeep smiling to himself across the room. He could only imagine what the man was thinking—was he the first to get a smile out of Leila, feisty as she usually was? Or did Leila have a reputation for hitting it off with the customers, and he was only the latest in a series of men she charmed good tips out of? Matthew couldn't begin to guess. Leila could put on personas as easily as getting dressed in the morning, a talent that he had never quite been able to emulate.

"Isn't he dreamy?" the other barmaid cooed, voice carrying through the quiet common room. Matthew couldn't help but laugh.

Leila's eyes flickered back to her coworker in annoyance.

"I'll be right back with your drink, sir," she said, loudly enough that the others could hear, yet not so loudly as to draw attention to herself. Leila was good at blending in with other people—she always had been. Matthew watched her head over to the kettle in the back and fill a glass with the bitter Ilian tea that he, like many Lycians, favored.

Leila's coworker intercepted her on her way back.

"Here, let me help you with that," the other girl offered, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

"I've got it," Leila replied with a smile. Matthew knew that smile; it was the friendly, civil smile he'd seen Leila wear a dozen times before-the friendly, civil smile of a girl marking her territory, staking a claim on him like a vicious mountain cat and daring the other to make a move. The barmaid hesitated before stepping out of the way. Leila was terrifying when she wanted to be.

"Here you go, sir," she announced with a wink. Matthew blew on the hot tea before taking a sip. He licked his lips satisfactorily.

"Wonderful," he pronounced, his voice falling to a whisper. "As always, m'dear, as always."

He produced a hip flask from an inner pocket in his cloak, unscrewing the lid and tipping a golden brown liquid into the tea. Matthew took another drink, sighing contentedly.

"You have no idea how hard it is to get good tea in this army," he said.

"Should you really be drinking now?" Leila asked in a hushed voice, despite the fact that she knew full well what he had intended in the first place. He shrugged.

"So, what's the current situation?"

"Our agent in Caelin reports that Lord Hausen is still holding on, but this 'illness'? Poison, from the sound of it. And this poisoner, well…none of us know for sure, but rumors—that we have every reason to believe in—say that it's his own brother, Lord Lundgren."

"Ouch," Matthew said with a wince. "What's this country coming to?"

Leila sighed heavily, leaning in close enough to him that her lips almost brushed his ear.

"We're spies, Matthew," she softly said. "We're no better."

She sighed at the same instant he did, pulling back from him as they both shook their heads.

"I'd like to think we're helping," he murmured, while she said, "It's part of the job, Matthew."

His eyes flickered to hers and his melancholy expression vanished in an instant, replaced by that grin of his: not the too-quick, effortless thief grin he'd assumed and hadn't seemed to shake since he'd walked in, but _her_ smile, the almost-laughing smirk that showed all of his teeth. He was pleased to see her smile back, close-lipped, warmth spreading to her eyes.

"Great minds think alike," he said, tapping his head emphatically with one finger.

"When you think at all," she chided.

"Fine, then. I guess you don't want my report," he said.

"You slipped it into my satchel when I gave you your tea," Leila pointed out, grinning as his expression melted into one of disbelief.

"Damn, you're good. Well, mostly, it details my observations of the people here. Lady Lyndis will be a good ruler to her people if she's not killed along the way. We do right in aiding her as best we can."

"It's good to know. Are all her companions sworn to Caelin?" she pressed.

"I'm way ahead of you—I've already scoped out potential additions to our forces. There's this knight, Kent, that I don't think we could recruit if we moved mountains for him. He's a bit taken with Lyn. Still, it's right to be on good terms with the guy; he's a good tie to Lyn, although I kind of hate using people like this…."

"I know what you mean," she sighed. "It's the worst part of it all."

"Agreed, m'dear. There's a Sacaen, too, a horse-archer that we will do well to have. He's unemployed as of now, so it could easily work out. After all, milord was so taken with the last Sacaen soldiers we hired, and this one's a notch above those. Look into Rath, if you can. Son of the Kutolah's chieftain too, wouldn't you know-and since I've never met a Sacaen that would dream of speaking a lie, you know it's the truth. Better relations with the strongest tribe in Sacae couldn't hurt," Matthew continued.

"Have you suggested it to him?" Leila asked.

"Of course not. They think I'm a common thief, and I'd do well to keep that in their heads. No need to make anyone suspicious at all. Let's see, what else…Serra, that bloody obnoxious cleric that practically haunts the castle? She's here too, and I'll be damned if I haven't been jumping at my shadow ever since. Wouldn't do to be recognized," he sighed, taking a gulp of tea. "Beyond that, there's this warrior from the Bern Mountains who might be good, but as for the rest of the group, there's little we could work with. We've got another sworn Caelin knight, an archer who's latched onto them like a burr, a freelance pegasus knight that's—would you believe it?—afraid of men, some Etrurian mage who's hired on to escort Serra somewhere, the poor guy, a pair of musicians, and an Elimine monk who doesn't care much for violence. They're all pretty good people, I have to say."

Leila arched an eyebrow in a way that was reminiscent of Ilia, Bern's snow-capped mountains, and Fimbulvetr spells; of all things cold and unpleasant that he would discover should he continue down the same meandering, storytelling path of his**. **Matthew shrugged helplessly.

"Okay, then, this one's actually important. The Black Fang got involved in this journey of theirs when they tried to kidnap some children. I've got no clue what was with that, but…they heedlessly attacked our group for defending them. I smell trouble in the future."

"Our lord has been mentioning the Black Fang for a while, now. He's talked of needing a spy on the inside," Leila quietly replied. Matthew grinned broadly.

"Well, here's to hoping old 'Ego' Reynard gets pulled for that one!" he cheered, raising his glass in a mock toast.

"I was going to volunteer," she told him, her eyes serious and stern. Matthew's grin slowly faded from his face.

"Leila…" he started.

"Don't 'Leila' me. It'll be fine, all right?" she assured, playfully ruffling his sandy hair. "Truth be told, I've been on the sidelines a lot recently. Reynard's in Caelin pretending to work for Lundgren, while you're out there on the battlefield, playing at soldier and infiltrating the ranks of the would-be marchioness. I'm the go-between for you two and our lord; I couldn't dream up a more boring job. And last time, remember? I had to check up on Ilia's economic status, while you were investigating that Cornwell scandal."

"Come on, Leila, that was about the least exciting thing I've ever done. Days upon days of doing dishes and chopping potatoes, that's all that happened."

Leila looked at him severely.

"All right, all right, I see what you mean. Economy is way worse than chasing off ducks in a lord's pond. Have fun with the Fang—I'm looking forward to a break. This whole army business is dreadfully dull," Matthew said, kicking back in his chair and trying to balance on two legs.

"Who knows? Maybe you'll have grown up a little when I get back," she teased.

"Very funny. All I was really worried about was the timing. Bern's a long, long way away, and I'd hate to miss you for month."

"I'll miss you, too."

_You won't have to miss her,_ Matthew's mind suggested. _You won't have to worry about the danger, the time, the trouble. Just say the magic words…_

They were on the tip of his tongue, just a simple "Leila, will you marry me?" He could see it clearly in his mind: giving up spy work, having a little house in Ostia, living out the rest of his days doing some honest work with the woman he loved. He could see it all in that instant….and he summarily dismissed it. He was on a mission, she was on a mission, and no matter how romantic eloping on the job was, Matthew realized that his work was important to the whole country, and he couldn't justify being so irresponsible.

"What are you thinking of?" Leila asked, cocking her head to the side as if trying to puzzle him out.

"Didn't you say yourself that I rarely think?" he lightheartedly replied, gesturing with his now-cold tea. He knew it wasn't what she had wanted to hear; Leila had never liked it when he avoided her questions or flat-out responded with joking, meaningless returns. Yet he couldn't rightly speak his mind because he'd already let go of that vision and moved on to the next: the view of the present.

"The barkeep is probably getting suspicious by now," Leila sighed, breaking the short silence.

"I have to go anyway," he softly said with a frown. Neither liked it, but they were used to it—coming and going was part of being a spy, no matter how parting hurt sometimes.

"Will I be seeing you in Caelin?" Matthew asked quietly.

"No. If all goes well, you'll report to Reynard. I have to stay here. If it doesn't go well…." Leila trailed off. She didn't need to say it. If it didn't go well, Reynard would be the one who would report Matthew's death to Lord Uther, as he would also report the latest goings-on with the new Marquess Lundgren. Ostia couldn't afford to take any chances, and no matter how they wished that Lyn would oust this usurper, Uther wouldn't put all his eggs in one basket, so to speak. Leila would quit this job as a barmaid and move on to her next mission, and Reynard would continue to feed them information from Caelin. Matthew didn't need to be told that he'd be damn lucky to escape with his life should Lyn's band be defeated. Not that he wasn't already damn lucky—after all, he'd stumbled upon the group by sheer happenstance, and it had proved to be a wonderful opportunity to gather information for Uther. It was far better than nitpicking through Araphen's situation, as he had been doing before.

He set a few coins on the counter, downed the rest of his tea in one gulp, and stood up to leave.

"Goodbye, m'dear," he whispered, kissing her lightly. She didn't bother to say a word about how they were in public, about how the barkeep was watching, about how this was undignified considering her outfit and the jealous stare of the other barmaid; Leila didn't say it because she neither needed to nor wanted to. Matthew slowly pulled away, his eyes heavy-lidded and regretful. He raised a hand in farewell and walked off.

"Goodbye," she whispered, watching him as he left. "Goodbye."

Things fell back to how they were before their meeting. Matthew rode his horse hard to make it back to the army in time, already set on explaining to them about how he'd gone information-gathering, and about what he learned of Caelin's marquess. Leila shrugged and told her coworker and boss that Matthew had been quite a gentleman and that he tipped well, to boot.

Matthew didn't quite have an explanation as to how he had "accidentally" acquired a smear of red lipstick across his own lips, and Leila couldn't quite tell the barkeep what they'd talked so long about.

Still, they wouldn't regret it. Even if he was only supposed to be delivering a report and even if she was only supposed to be receiving it, both would have agreed that reports were definitely more exciting than infiltrating the Black Fang and more amusing than mocking Caelin knights, so long as the reports were between each other.

And even if he hadn't been able to ask her to marry him, well….

Matthew fingered the ring that had been his grandmother's, given to her when his grandfather proposed, before smiling and tucking it back into his cloak.

He'd do it after the next mission. That was a promise.


End file.
